


a dash of orange juice in vodka

by etoilette



Series: AU-gust 2020 [18]
Category: Persona 5
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bodyguard, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Banter, Crossdressing, Gun Violence, Humor, M/M, Minor Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-19
Updated: 2020-08-19
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:00:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25989358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/etoilette/pseuds/etoilette
Summary: Akira smirks at him, doubtlessly pleased with the extremely visceral reaction that Akechi gave to his outfit. It’s a stunning evening gown, with a high lace collar to hide the fact that Akira doesn’t have any breasts, and sheer sleeves to conceal his toned arms. On any woman, it would be drop dead gorgeous. On Akira, it makes Akechi want to knock him down until he is dead.OROkumura Haru is expected at a charity banquet event, and three of her most trusted bodyguards join her to rub shoulders with the elite of society. Too bad not everyone there is in a particularly charitable mood.
Relationships: Akechi Goro/Kurusu Akira, Akechi Goro/Persona 5 Protagonist, Niijima Makoto/Okumura Haru
Series: AU-gust 2020 [18]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1860436
Comments: 5
Kudos: 132





	a dash of orange juice in vodka

**Author's Note:**

> Additional TW: Some unwanted advances
> 
> Written for Day #18 of AU-gust: Bodyguards AU!
> 
> I'm no longer posting these on the actual days anymore hhh my writing speed fell so much.

If Akechi had the choice, he would use the Walther PPK in his belt to shoot dead every single rich person who has come up to him so far at the so-called charity dinner event. 

There’s something about too much money that rots the brain cells and kills common sense, because he’s sure that one of the first things you’re supposed to learn in elementary school is to keep your hands to yourself, and yet no one has been able to do so. He had to put up with greasy fingers fondling his waist the entire time as men ordered drinks from the bar, as if Akechi was a bunny girl at a casino. Or women who clearly were used to getting what they wanted leaning in until he could smell the reek of sweat under their miasma of perfume, their hands climbing ever closer up his thigh until he could push them away with a smile.

Okumura Haru is probably the only “rich” person whom Akechi can stand spending more than ten minutes with, and only ever if Makoto is there to act as a buffer of sorts between the two. He likes her well enough but something about her pleasantly sweet demeanour sets his teeth on edge, like he’s looking into the eyes of a swan seconds before it lunges at its victim.

He’s supposed to be watching over her as she parades herself around the banquet hall, since he’s a bodyguard, not a professional wine-taster. And yet, as he sits at the bar, nursing his fifth or sixth flute of champagne that probably costs more than his entire closet, he can’t bring himself to care. 

Makoto’s with her anyway, stuck to her side like a persistent parasite, and Makoto would kill the sun if it means she can save Haru from a sunburn. They don’t need Akechi. He takes another gulp of the champagne, barely tasting it, and flags the bartender now for another flute.

“Hey, come here often?”

Akechi rolls his eyes and turns slightly in his stool, prepared to chew out Akira for his _highly unprofessional_ behaviour while they’re still technically on the clock. What he sees makes his mouth go dry, and not even in the way that alcohol normally does.

Akira smirks at him, doubtlessly pleased with the extremely visceral reaction that Akechi gave to his outfit. It’s a stunning evening gown, with a high lace collar to hide the fact that Akira doesn’t have any breasts, and sheer sleeves to conceal his toned arms. On any woman, it would be drop dead gorgeous. On Akira, it makes Akechi want to knock him down until he _is_ dead. 

“No,” Akechi says.

“No, you don’t come here often?”

“I mean, no, you look stupid like that. Don’t sit next to me.”

He hops off his stool to drag it away from the one next to it so no one in their right mind would think the two of them are associated but Akira says, “Don’t mind if I do,” and slides into the vacant seat. 

Akechi struggles to continue pulling it so he could at least occupy the other stool, but Akira is a lot heavier than he seems. He is also a lot ruder than he seems, because he swivels in his chair and rests his legs on the free stool, leaving Akechi with no other choice but to stand.

“You look ravishing,” Akira says, batting his eyelashes up at Akechi. He looks like he has something in his eye and Akechi hopes that he can get it out soon. “You’re stunning in that suit but I think I’d prefer to see it on the ground.”

“Nice,” Akechi says. “I’m surprised they’ve invented time machines already, but it’s unfortunate they allowed a brain-dead neanderthal such as yourself to use it.”

“Ooh, you and your big words.” Akira waggles his eyebrows. “Do you have something bigger you’d like to show me?”

Akechi presses himself against Akira’s shoulder, tilting their faces so close together that he could feel the exact moment Akira’s controlled breathing hitch. “I’m sure you can feel for yourself how big I am,” he practically purrs, rubbing the concealed Walther PPK into Akira’s shoulder through his jacket.

The bartender clears his throat and slides a new flute of champagne down onto the table in front of Akechi. He gets paid the big bucks to stay silent on every single affair happening at the banquet; seeing a man in a dress being propositioned by another man is probably the least scandalous thing he’s seen or heard all night.

Akechi takes the excuse to back away, picking up the flute daintily and sipping from it. It’s a complete 180 from the way he practically chugged it earlier but Akira doesn’t need to know that. He watches out of the corner of his eye as Akira’s Adam’s apple bobs up and down as if he’s imagining Akechi drinking something else. Akira opens his mouth but before he could say anything - 

“Die, Okumura! Down with capitalism!” 

Akechi quickly spits his mouthful of champagne back into the glass and sets it down, whipping out his gun in a fluid motion and pointing it towards where he last saw Haru. From his periphery he sees Akira leap off the stool and pull his Tkachev out from a thigh holster.

Wait. A thigh holster?

Wait, no. He has to concentrate on Haru.

Ah, but wait.

Akechi chances another glance at Akira but the gown is already back in place around Akira’s legs. He’s going to have to rip up the expensive-looking fabric later to double check but he already knows what he’s going to see. 

Not because he trusts his eyesight one hundred percent but Akira is one hundred percent that sort of extra.

There are still screams erupting around the hall and Akechi gives himself a mental shake as he shifts back into work mode. 

It seems that a man had charged Haru with a knife - no doubt to keep casualties to a minimum in the cramped space - but Makoto had grabbed him and thrown him onto the ground in an arm lock. 

“Haru, are you alright?” Makoto yells, her loud voice clearly audible even halfway across the hall. 

Akechi shoots Akira a look, and his partner nods at him. Like a pack of wolves on a hunt, they spread out, Akechi towards the right of the room and Akira towards the left, their gaze ever-focused on where Haru is still standing by the tables.

Haru sips from a martini glass and smiles. “I’m fine, Mako-chan,” she says. Or at least Akechi thinks she does anyway. Her voice is soft and calm, and he can only rely on reading her lips with how many people are still screaming as if _their_ lives were in any danger just now. How Makoto is able to project her voice so loudly is beyond Akechi. 

The man on the ground yells and pounds his free fist on the ground. His yell of frustrations ebbs into a squeal of pain as Makoto bears down harder on him, but he still manages to call out, “Get her, my comrades!! Don’t let capitalism win!!”

Eight men and women who had been watching the action rip open their jackets and their dresses to reveal knives and guns of all kinds. Akechi rolls his eyes and immediately shoots dead two of them, and he can see from the other side of the room that Akira does the same thing. 

They obviously hadn’t been expecting four of their companions to be killed so soon after their big reveal and they gawk, standing around as Makoto easily breaks the shoulder of the man she has pinned and runs forward, smashing her fist into the nose of another man. 

With five down within seconds, the remaining three leap into action, one of them racing towards Haru with a gun, shooting wildly. The guests scream as they cover their heads, running about like headless chicken. The bullets are going every which way, shattering windows and chandeliers and Makoto jumps, grabbing Haru and protecting her as best as she can with her body. The two women make their way towards the exit, Makoto pulling out her Peacemaker as she does so.

Akira covers them, using one of the small bar tables as a makeshift shield, crouching behind it and shuffling along as he shoots back at the assassins. To Akechi’s lack of surprise, Akira had ripped open the side of his dress so it looks like there’s a huge slit in it, reaching up practically to his waist. There is indeed a thigh holster around his leg - two actually, if one includes the belt stuffed full of knives.

Akechi ducks behind a banquet table, cursing himself for not bringing any of his grenades or bombs and cursing Akira for bringing throwing knives to a gunfight. He reloads his gun and quickly dips out from the shadow of the table to shoot at a woman aiming a gun at Haru. He barely grazes her and she whips around to shoot at Akechi, who throws himself behind the table once more, making sure he still has the banquet hall out of the corner of his eye at least.

He immediately regrets it. The sound of the woman makes Akira look up and to Akechi’s dismay, Akira smiles and flexes his thighs for no reason. “You like this, Akechi?” he yells. Akechi would glare at him for betraying his position if he didn’t already do so himself. “I do thigh workouts all the time. My lower body is toned as hell. Could go all night, any position you want.”

“Shut up and focus on the battle!” Akechi yells back.

“I killed two, and you killed two,” Akira continues as if Akechi didn’t say anything. “Whoever kills more than the other gets to tell the other person to do one thing.”

“Anything they like?”

“Anything they like.”

“Guys, can you not do this for _once_?” Makoto shouts, her tone frustrated. She is standing in the doorway, her revolver aloft but mostly for show. 

She isn’t the best shot in the Okumura bodyguard team and it’s one of those open secrets, like how Santa isn’t real. Akechi isn’t scared of being shot by her (unless he’s standing behind her and yes, he’s seen for himself Makoto’s bullet somehow ricochet against the wall and strike someone over her shoulder) but he certainly is wary of being punched in the face by her.

He saw Ryuji get punched by Makoto once and it put him out of commission for three days. When he woke up, he didn’t even remember his name, and Makoto had to physically push Ann back before Ann could try to convince Ryuji that he was actually a gorilla that escaped from the Tokyo Zoo and he needs to be back in his cage pronto. 

“It’s fun to see them play with each other,” Haru says, effectively stifling Makoto’s protests.

“You’re on!” Akechi shouts. He already knows he wants: to ask Akira to make him curry and leave him alone for the day after that. It's two things rather than the promised one, technically, but Akechi hadn't been captain of the debate team in high school for no reason. He leaps out from behind the table and runs, shooting the ground in front of the woman as he does so. She flinches back and she shoots once, the shot going wide. 

“Why do you keep going for the woman, Akechi?” Akira calls out. He can’t shut up. He vaults over the table and throws it at the two remaining men, shooting one of them in the thigh and the other in the shoulder. “Sure I’m flat but my chest is pretty alluring.”

“Can you two please not use me as a centerpiece for your weird flirting?” the woman asks and she sidesteps Akechi when he tried to pin her down, so desperate for a quick win that he lost his cool.

“Sorry that I’m not into washboards,” Akechi replies. He rolls back quickly when he sees the woman readying her weapon. The bullet lands into the carpet instead of his chest. He shoots her in the stomach with his gun and in between her eyes when she slumps down. “I prefer them on my abs. I’m at three kills now, by the way.”

He turns towards Akira, prepared to shoot dead the man he had injured earlier in the thigh, but right as he takes aim, the man lets out an aborted scream and falls, a red hole in his head. 

“That’s a coincidence,” Akira says, shooting a shit-eating grin Akechi’s way for a split second before he focuses his gun onto the man with the injured shoulder. “I also happen to love your abs. We have so much in common, we should definitely date. I also killed three now, _by the way_.”

“Seriously, can you guys shut up and focus on fighting us?” the remaining goon shouts. “Is this why people don’t want to take jobs to kill Okumura? Because of you two?”

“It’s actually because my team is very dedicated and skilled,” Haru says the same time that Makoto say, “Yes.”

“You’re awfully mouthy for the only one left,” Akechi says boredly, gesturing around the room with his gun. There’s only one assassin left, his shoulder shot clean through by Akira’s bullet. The banquet hall is almost completely empty save for Haru and her three bodyguards, with all the guests long gone and all the other assassins out of commission. “Any last words before we shoot you full of holes? Akira, do not make a joke about holes.”

Akira closes his mouth quietly.

The assassin laughs, sounding like a comic book character. He brandishes a grenade in the air and yells, “As long as I can kill Okumura Haru, I don’t care what happens to me!” He lets out a loud scream and hurls the grenade.

It’s like the world is in slow motion. 

Akechi pulls the trigger and he watches as his bullet lands in the man’s neck, but it isn’t immediately lethal. The impact of the bullet throws the man’s aim off but his arm is steady and practiced as he raises his gun, its sight trained towards Akira. As opposed to the bumbling fools the other assassins had been, this one looks the most like he can pose a legitimate threat. 

Akira raises his own gun, aimed towards the assassin but his eyes widen behind his fake glasses when he pulls the trigger. Nothing happens, no bullet emerges from the muzzle - likely a jam since a mistake as simple as forgetting how many times the gun was fired would never happen to Akira.

He has full confidence in Kurusu Akira, the only person Akechi’s ever met in his life who has posed a challenge, who has been anything worth knowing more about. If he’s Akechi Goro’s equal, then there is no way some low level goon could kill him, as Futaba might say.

But Akechi’s been in the business for a long time. He’s seen people with more skills and more experience under their belts die to completely random mooks, whether by sheer luck or something else.

He doesn’t want his last words to Akira to be about holes, of all things. He doesn’t want his last impression of Akira to be of him inside a ripped up dress.

“Akira!” he yells, running forward, as if that would do anything to stop the bullet. He raises his own gun, and takes aim, ready to fire. There’s the distant chance that shooting the assassin dead might cause him to pull the trigger, thus killing Akira, but Akira’s going to die _anyway_ if he doesn’t do anything.

Before he can pull the trigger, he sees a blur of pink and hears a horrified cry of “Haru!” 

Okumura Haru, heiress of the Okumura Company and avid collector of plush sheep, runs towards the assassin with a fierce battle cry, Makoto’s shitty Peacemaker in her hand. She shoots once and the man falls dead to the ground. The gun doesn’t go off. She snatches the grenade up in one hand without even stopping, racing along the carpeted floor in her heels, and she throws it out the window.

As if in a dream, Akechi hears the muffled explosion of the grenade as it goes off in mid-air. Belatedly, the familiar sound of screaming rings out from outside. 

“Haru, that was incredibly reckless,” Makoto yells. She runs forward and pats Haru all over, as if she somehow hurt herself throughout her momentary fit of pique. Makoto’s hands linger on Haru’s waist before they shoot up to her shoulders; for the sake of maintaining peace, Akechi immediately scrubs the sight from his memory. “What if you got hurt?”

Haru giggles. “Why would I ever be hurt with so many lovely bodyguards here to protect me?”

“How can we do our jobs when you’re out there endangering yourself?” Makoto groans. She looks like she is about to say more when Haru presses a finger to her Makoto’s lips. 

“I’m sure you out of everyone will be able to find a way!” Haru says, a soft smile on her face.

Makoto’s face shines bright pink and she pulls Haru in for a tight hug, burying her face into the crook of Haru’s neck. Haru reaches up and strokes through Makoto’s hair, her attention thoroughly on her stressed bodyguard and not at all on the other two.

Akechi walks over and sits down on the ground next to Akira, who is still staring at the open window with a pout on his face. 

“No one won,” he says, looking more put-out by that fact than how he could have very easily been killed just minutes earlier. “We’re tied at three each and Haru took the other kill.”

“We still have two alive here,” Akechi says, gesturing to the unconscious bodyguards Makoto knocked out. They’re in for a hell of a surprise when they wake up. “We can still continue the competition.”

“If you kill one and I kill one, we’ll still be tied,” Akira points out. “Ah, but I suppose you’d have a headstart since I have to un-jam my gun.”

He starts taking it apart, tossing the offending case out of the plastic. His attention is so focused on his hands that he doesn’t notice Akechi leaning down and slinging an arm around his shoulder until it’s actually happening, his head flopping onto Akechi’s shoulder. 

“Akechi?” Akira asks, but Akechi simply leans himself even harder into Akira’s side, until Akira has to push himself up with his arms so that he isn’t completely bowled over. “Akechi? What’s wrong?”

Akechi looks at the shell case on the ground and wonders. If Haru hadn’t stepped in, would he be leaning himself against a cooling corpse, rather than the reassuring warmth of his partner? In another universe, would Makoto and Haru be crying over Akira’s dead body, rather than flirting with each other and feeling each other up under the guise of worry? There’s simply no way to tell, and Akechi shakes his head, ignoring the weight of Akira’s questioning look on the top of his head.

“Nothing,” he says. “I’m just tired from you being an idiot, as per usual.”

Akira laughs. He pushes himself up until he’s sitting properly again, with his legs crossed. The gown is long enough to hide his privates, but the slit is distracting, the silk-like material sliding until Akechi could just see Akira’s pale inner thigh. 

“Ah yes, but I’m your idiot, aren’t I?”

The smug satisfaction in Akira’s look and the way he asks the question as if he thinks Akechi would say yes in every reality make heat crawl up Akechi’s throat. 

He stands up quickly, huffing out a sigh when he hears Akira’s shriek as he falls to the ground without Akechi to lean on, and makes his way back towards the bar. He remembers the bartender had escaped during the commotion earlier, but that just means free reign of the bar counter. He pours himself a screwdriver and watches as Akira pushes himself up, already smiling up at Haru and Makoto as they run over to fuss over him.

If his gaze is warmer than usual, well, that’s just his secret to take with him to the grave.

**Author's Note:**

> The cocktail language for a screwdriver is ["my heart has been stolen by you"](https://macaro-ni.jp/36786). It's not a sex joke lol.


End file.
